There is a scarlet thread that runs through Floods, a kind of cicada sibilation in air so clear it’s Andean. And honestly this music makes me think of air and all that it carries—pollen, seeds, birds, bees, raindrops, maybe Welsh water sprites—rather than rushing water.

James Murray 'Floods'

[Release page] Still in thrall to the force of nature he witnessed growing up on the plains of Wales, when twin rivers swelled their banks to confuse the landscape, James Murray attempts to recapture that feeling of awe with his “scavenged” acoustic instruments and subdued electronic treatments. His new label, Slowcraft, is intended as a platform for “unhurried,” handmade productions. The plain, rubber-stamped gatefold sleeve in which it comes is the tactile equivalent of its sound.

There is a scarlet thread that runs through Floods, a kind of cicada sibilation in air so clear it’s Andean. And honestly this music makes me think of air and all that it carries—pollen, seeds, birds, bees, raindrops, maybe Welsh water sprites—rather than rushing water. It twinkles. Though the floods occured in winter, Floods is vernal. The air is redolent of new smells coming from the upturned earth left by the receding waters. “Greenlands” couldn’t be more bucolic if Pan himself were to prance past playing his pipes. The title track stands out for its beatufifully orchestrated, Celtic charm; it could easily carry a lyric.

Unhurried but Murray never dithers; Floods is easy-going and yet not a note is extraneous.